You Fucking Psycho, Who The Fuck Wears Jeans To Bed???

Preview of the Steven-Dave saga chapter something that isn't chapter one:

Steven-dave was fucking pissed. Eurylochus had opened the bag again. He ran across the deck, assisting his comrades and checking on those who seemed to need further help. He was sure he and Polites had convinced Eurylochus to leave the bag alone, but realistically, no one else would dare to enter the captain’s cabin, rummage through his things, and actually open the bag—except Eurylochus and Polites. The waves were still rough, and the wind howled in his ears, though he could vaguely hear Odysseus calling for Eurylochus to help him close the bag. Not that it mattered now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Polites following his lead, helping those in need. Steven-dave's eyes darted around, frantically searching for his friends. He knew Polites was safe; he had just seen him. Odysseus and Eurylochus had closed the bag and looked a bit windswept, but nothing a few minutes with a hairbrush couldn’t fix.

He scanned the rest of the men on the ship, checking their wellbeing but discarding them when he realized they weren’t his closest friends. The longer he went without seeing his friend, the tenser he became. People were starting to notice, especially when Eurylochus managed to come up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder without him noticing. It took a firm but reassuring squeeze for Steven-dave to become aware of Eurylochus' presence. For a man of his size, that definitely said something. The action did what it was meant to do, and Steven-dave became aware of his surroundings, not just the people in them. He silently thanked Eurylochus before resuming his search for Bobicus, though not as single-mindedly as before. After a moment, he spotted Bobicus helping a crewmate untangle themselves from some rope. Bobicus looked no worse than the others, though he desperately needed a brush through his hair, but he seemed uninjured.

Relieved to find Bobicus alive and well, Steven-dave rushed over to him. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him he’d forgotten something important, but he didn’t care. He was more concerned about keeping all of his brothers (yes, even Odysseus, though he’d never say that out loud) safe and within his sight. By this point, the rest of the crew had gathered their bearings and begun taking stock of the ship and their remaining supplies. As they worked to right the ship, the sea began to churn almost noticeably. The waves grew taller, the wind picked up speed, the clouds darkened, and the air became tense for no discernible reason. The memory of a similar moment hit Steven-dave like a freight train: Poseidon. He had forgotten about the god of the sea. As if summoned, Poseidon appeared in all his horse-like glory.

Beneath the rippling surface of the water, said man began to ascend, his body slowly emerging from the depths. His head was the first thing to break through the surface, his long black locks flowing behind him like ink dispersing in water. Strands clung to his forehead and neck, contrasting his bronzed skin. Water streamed down his cheeks and jawline, cascading off in delicate rivulets that shimmered under the evening sun.

His shoulders followed, swathed in silky ebony hair. Droplets of water clung to the contours of his collarbones, sliding down the curves of his chest, following the path of his hair. His arms followed, his muscles tensed and his veins bulging. The water ebbing and flowing over the sculpted ridges and valleys of his well defined muscles. As the water reached his wrists, it spread out, trailing over his large, powerful hands. The glistening liquid slipped into the grooves of his palms, following the natural lines and creases, delicately tracing each callus and scar.

Next to come into view was his abdomen, the sculpted muscles of his abs drawing more than one wandering eye. Not that steven-dave could say much, the god was incredibly attractive when he wasn’t trying to kill him and his friends. Each droplet of water that slowly trailed down his body emphasized how well defined and toned his muscles were.

This is quite obviously my first draft and very unfinished. I'm using @anniflamma 's poseidon design since that's the one I personally think is the coolest. The two Characters I've added into this are the titular character Steven-dave and his bestie Bobicus.

Having several TCF thoughts atm.

Okay, so I'm not caught up at all (I've just finished the first fight with the white star) but thanks to several asshole cousins of mine, I have received several spoilers. Like, all the big spoilers I assume. And from that as well as my own analysis, I have some thoughts.

Cale has more abilities than just Instant and Record

Toonka is one of my absolute favourite characters

Adin is an actual piece of shit

Cale has to be like, a God or something. No fucking way he just does that shit. (At the same time, i rly hope he's not anything extra, and he just gets his slacker life eventually, he deserves it)

The white star is a fucking bastard who deserves nothing but to be absolutely obliterated by our favourite wannabe slacker

Ao3 is down, I repeat, Ao3 is down

There is no future tense in the English language. It's literally just the present tense with a modal verb tacked on the beginning.

Katakuri appreciation post. No reason for it, I just thought of him and how amazingly edible he is and I thought he deserved some appreciation for being so versatile :)

I am so fucking normal about them. I swear I'm not foaming at the mouth, you're just seeing things I swear-

Whilst Eurylochus isn't as faultless as my baby Polites, doesn't mean everything was his fault. Did he open the wind bag? Yes, yes, he did. Did that directly lead to poseidon killing of the crew? No, it didn't. Poseidon would have taken revenge on Odysseus and his crew either way, not just because they were pushed further away from Ithaca. As observed in the snippet of 'get in the water', we've seen that poseidon is more than capable of appearing anywhere in the ocean. Ergo, he was going to kill them all anyway, Eurylochus just spiced things up by changing the location they died. Furthermore, he wasn't wrong to mutiny against Odysseus, and realistically, he wasn't the one fully at fault for zeus and 'thunder bringer'. Now, I'm not saying he's faultless because most of the blame definitely falls onto him. What I am saying is that he was tired and hungry, and he'd given up. Think about it, he'd probably not eaten in days if he stopped off at the first island he came across and killed the sun God's cows. He'd just mutinied against his captain, his friend. Suddenly, the lives of all the crew rest souly on his shoulders. And he's just so tired. Tired of Odysseus ignoring his concerns, tired of seeing his friends and comrades die, tired of seeing Odysseus change for the worst and tired of being hungry. He wasn't in the right state of mind, he'd completely given up by the second half of 'mutiny'. During 'thunder bringer' he doesn't sound angry or even very betrayed. He just sounds apathetic, he's entirely given up at this point. He wants it all to end, and I can't say I blame him. What I'm saying is that, in this situation, would anyone have done anything different? With several gods already looming over you, wishing for your destruction, being so tired and so hungry, and having seen so many of your friends die would anyone really have left those cows?

Tldr; Eurylochus isn't entirely at fault, nobody is entirely at fault. All the actions taken are understandable. They are just humans and they make mistakes.

reblog if ur currently scrolling tumblr to procrastinate writing ur fanfic

Continuation

___________________________________

It was rare to get the whole Bat-family together for dinner, but Alfred had insisted. The dining room at Wayne Manor was filled with a chaotic mix of voices, clattering silverware, and the occasional verbal jab. For once, Bruce allowed himself a moment to enjoy it—until Jason leaned back in his chair, grinning like the Joker had just handed him a free pass to Arkham.

“So, Dick,” Jason drawled, raising his voice to cut through the chatter. “You gonna tell everyone about your new best friend?”

Dick, who had been mid-sip of water, choked. “What are you talking about?”

Jason smirked. “Oh, you know. The assassin who broke into your place and decided to play Mom instead of killing you.”

The table fell silent. All eyes turned to Dick, whose face flushed under the scrutiny.

“Wait, what?” Tim blurted, fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

“Oh my god, you weren’t going to tell them, were you?” Jason cackled.

Bruce set his knife down with deliberate precision, fixing Dick with a sharp, unreadable look. “Explain. Now.”

Dick sighed, already regretting this entire evening. “It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?!” Tim interrupted. “An assassin broke into your home!”

“And didn’t kill me,” Dick pointed out, raising his hands defensively.

“That’s not the win you think it is,” Barbara said, though there was a twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.

Stephanie was leaning forward, her eyes gleaming with barely suppressed laughter. “Hold up. Back up. They didn’t kill you, and instead, they… what? Offered to split the rent?”

“They made me breakfast,” Dick admitted reluctantly.

That was it. Stephanie doubled over laughing, pounding the table with her fist. “Oh my god, you charmed an assassin into meal prepping for you!”

Cass, seated beside Barbara, tilted her head and smiled. “They liked you.”

“I wouldn’t say they liked me—”

“They liked you,” Cass repeated, firm but amused.

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms and glaring at Dick. “That’s pathetic, Grayson. Allowing an enemy into your home and—what—offering to feed them?” His lip curled, but there was a faint crease of worry in his brow that didn’t escape Dick’s notice.

“I was tired,” Dick said, exasperated. “And I thought it was one of you!”

“That makes it worse,” Bruce said sharply, his tone cold enough to silence everyone. “You assumed the intruder was family and let your guard down. That could’ve gotten you killed.”

“It didn’t,” Dick said, meeting Bruce’s gaze evenly. “They left a note, and they stocked my fridge. That’s it. I’m fine.”

Bruce’s expression darkened. “I’ll install surveillance in your building tomorrow.”

“Bruce, no—”

“Actually,” Tim interjected, “we should bug the entire block. If they come back, we need to be ready.”

“They bought me groceries, Tim!”

“They were in your apartment,” Tim countered.

“You didn’t even know they were there, did you?” Bruce asked, his voice clipped.

“I was half-asleep!”

Jason was practically crying with laughter at this point. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all year. You, the golden boy, the people’s champion, managed to turn a hired killer into your personal shopper.”

“Technically,” Stephanie added, smirking, “they’re more like a life coach. They stocked your fridge because they felt bad for you.”

“That’s even worse!” Damian snapped, glaring at Dick. “Your incompetence is so obvious that an assassin pitied you.”

“Okay, Damian, I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me about assassins,” Dick shot back, smirking.

Damian bristled but didn’t respond, his cheeks slightly red.

Barbara leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. “Only you, Dick. Only you could make an assassin reconsider their target because of how pathetically you live.”

Cass giggled softly, nodding. “They care.”

“Exactly!” Dick pointed at Cass. “See? Someone gets it.”

“That’s not a compliment,” Barbara said flatly.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about irresponsibility and lapses in judgment.

“Honestly, you’re all overreacting,” Dick said, crossing his arms.

“Overreacting?” Tim repeated. “You didn’t even trace the receipt for the groceries they bought, did you?”

“Nope,” Jason said, answering for him. “Too busy enjoying the eggs, weren’t you, Dickie?”

“For the record,” Dick said loudly, ignoring Jason, “those eggs were excellent.”

Stephanie wheezed. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Dick Grayson: Assassins fear him, but also…kind of want to take care of him?”

Bruce sighed heavily. “We’re setting up surveillance.”

“You’re not—”

“We’re setting up surveillance,” Bruce repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Dick groaned, dropping his head into his hands. This was going to haunt him forever.

__________________________________________

Jason had planned to crash at Dick’s place for the night—not that he’d told Dick. He’d gotten in late, his safehouse compromised by some bad intel, and while he could’ve gone anywhere, he’d ended up here. Grayson’s door was always open, whether Jason deserved it or not.

He told himself it was just convenience, but when he walked into the quiet, dark apartment, something felt…off.

The place wasn’t trashed, but Jason’s sharp eyes picked up on the subtle signs of a break-in: the faint scuff marks near the door, the window latch reset just slightly differently than Dick usually left it. His gut twisted. Someone had been here.

“You'd better not be dead Dick,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the handgun he’d pulled from his jacket. He scanned the apartment quickly, checking corners and closets. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Finally, Jason found himself standing in the kitchen. The fridge was humming softly, and the countertops were clear—except for a piece of paper folded neatly and tucked into the gap between the toaster and the coffee maker.

Frowning, Jason holstered his gun and picked it up. The sharp, precise handwriting immediately made his stomach drop. Assassins always had a certain way about them. His gaze skimmed the words, and his initial worry was quickly replaced by incredulity.

> "I was here to deliver a message, but your hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"

Jason blinked. Then blinked again.

“What the hell?” he muttered, flipping the note over as if the back might offer some clarification.

He set the note down, opened the fridge, and stared. It was fully stocked—eggs, milk, fresh vegetables, yogurt. The yogurt was even the expensive kind. Jason let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Golden boy, you absolute idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head. The guy could charm just about anyone, but this? An assassin breaking in and deciding to do his grocery shopping instead of his dirty work? That was peak Dick Grayson.

But beneath the humor, Jason couldn’t quite shake his unease. An assassin breaking in to deliver a message was one thing. Leaving a note, making breakfast, and restocking the fridge was another. Who the hell was this person, and why hadn’t Dick called anyone about it?

When Dick finally walked in, fresh from patrol and looking like he’d spent the night dragging himself through a cement mixer, Jason was waiting for him. He sat on the counter, arms crossed, the note note in one hald and a bag of monster munch in the other.

“Hey, Dickie,” Jason called casually, but there was a sharp edge to his voice. “Anything you wanna share with the class?”

Dick froze mid-step. His eyes darted to the note in Jason’s hand, and he groaned. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Jason’s lips twitched, his smirk masking his concern. “Oh, don’t worry, I saw it. Read it. Even checked out the fridge. Wanna explain why a professional killer decided to play Gordon Ramsay in your kitchen instead of, you know, killing you?”

Dick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not what it looks like—”

“Not what it looks like?!” Jason barked, standing up and waving the note. “An assassin broke in here, Grayson. They were probably two seconds away from cutting your throat, and somehow, you convinced them to restock your pantry instead. What the hell, man?”

“They weren’t going to kill me,” Dick said defensively, though the way he avoided Jason’s gaze didn’t help his case.

“You don’t know that!” Jason shot back. “What if this is some weird psychological game? What if they poisoned your milk or something?”

“They didn’t poison my milk, Jay.”

Jason stared at him, jaw clenched, before running a hand through his hair and laughing—a sharp, disbelieving sound. “God, you’re lucky you’re so damn charming, or you’d be dead twenty times over by now.”

Dick tried to hide his sheepish smile. “That’s why you love me.”

Jason glared at him for a moment longer before the smirk broke through. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you alive. Speaking of, when were you planning on telling everyone else about this little incident?”

“Uh… I wasn't?"

Jason paused and then grinned, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “So you're saying Bruce doesn'tknow about this?”

“No.”

“Well, he’s gonna,” Jason said gleefully. “Because there’s no way I’m keeping this to myself.”

“Jason!”

“Relax,” Jason said, smirking. “Think of it as a bonding experience. Bruce will yell at you, Tim will freak out, Damian will call you pathetic, and I’ll be here to laugh through all of it.”

Dick groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re the worst.”

Dick Grayson barely registered the creak of his apartment door as he stumbled in, shoulders sagging under the weight of another grueling night. Three jobs and a patrol shift in Blüdhaven would do that to a guy. He kicked off his boots, dragged himself toward the couch, and froze mid-step.

Someone was already here.

For a split second, instinct had him reaching for the escrima sticks he kept stashed near the door. But then he caught the faintest whiff of something familiar—coffee beans? The expensive kind. And the faint rustle of someone shifting in the dark. He relaxed. Probably one of his siblings. Jason liked breaking in unannounced when he was in a mood, Tim treated locks like they were a mere suggestion, and Damien was Damien.

"Tim, if you're raiding my coffee stash again, at least leave some for me this time," Dick grumbled, flopping onto the couch without bothering to look.

Silence.

"Jason? Did you lose your keys, or are you here to eat all my leftovers again?" He paused. "Duke, if that's you, I—okay, actually, no idea why you'd be brooding in the dark, but it's been a long day, so I'm just gonna roll with it."

The silence stretched on, but Dick was too exhausted to care. Whoever it was, they could wait until morning. "Look, I’m on your side. Or, I will be in the morning when I’ve had some sleep." He yawned, dragging himself up off the couch and toward his bedroom. "I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk then. Pancakes or eggs, your call. Just...try not to trash the place while I’m out, yeah?"

The figure didn’t move, and Dick didn’t wait for an answer. He fell into bed and passed out almost immediately.

---

When Dick woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The second thing he noticed was the smell of coffee.

He frowned. Coffee? He hadn’t made any.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, on the counter, was a steaming mug of coffee and a note. Beside the note sat a printed receipt and a bag of fresh groceries.

Dick blinked, reaching for the note first. The handwriting was sharp and precise:

> "Not one of your siblings. Sorry for the confusion. Came to deliver a message, but your ‘brotherly’ assumption and hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. They should last a week. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"

He stared at the note, then at the receipt. The assassin—or whoever they were—had bought him eggs, milk, bread, fresh vegetables, and even a few snacks.

Setting the note aside, Dick opened his fridge. Sure enough, it was freshly stocked. His two protein bars and box of expired cereal were still there, now dwarfed by the bounty of fresh food.

He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Only me,” he muttered, sipping the coffee. It was good. Better than what he usually bought.

Dick leaned against the counter, rereading the note. Whoever this “K” was, they clearly didn’t know how to keep things impersonal. And while the whole “message from an assassin” thing was technically alarming, he couldn’t help but feel amused.

“I guess I should be worried,” he mused aloud, glancing at the groceries again. “But hey, at least they care about my nutrition.”

It was the weirdest start to a morning he’d had in a while, but for Dick Grayson, that wasn’t saying much.

He does have one very close friend on the the ship he's on. Because I was making this story whilst incredibly sleep deprived I decided to name that friend Bobicus. Think of the relationship odysseus has with polites and then double it and that's Bobicus and Steven-dave. Bobicus will figure out somethings up almost immediately but he trusts Steven-Dave with his life so he won't bring it up unless he needs to.

And Steven-dave was on Odysseus' ship, that's why he's managed to survive as long as he has.

re: epic time travel fix it

do you mind sharing more about steven-dave? was he one of the guys that was in the cave with polyphemus? was he part of the group that turned into pigs by circe? or did he stay back on the ship for those? (no pressure to answer tho! i’m just very invested in the life of your intrepid time traveller :D)

Steven-dave was there for everything. In the og timeline, he was in the cave with Polyphemus, got turned into a pig, the whole lot of it. Now that he's regressed, he's stuck being the only one who has common sense whilst the rest of the crew continue to do more and more stupid shit. Honestly, he's going to need a pay rise by the time I'm done with him. If you want to know more about steven-dave in general then feel free to pop me another ask :)